We will remember them
by The Dollhouse Queen
Summary: <html><head></head>On the hills above ANZAC cove, New Zealand sings for the men lost ninety-six years before. Tribute for ANZAC day.</html>


**We will remember them.**

**Summary: **On the hills above ANZAC cove, New Zealand sings for the men lost ninety-six years before. Tribute for ANZAC day.

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis powers, ANZAC day, the Gallipoli campaign, the national anthems of Australia, the UK, Turkey or New Zealand, nor do I own the speech by Ataturk, or the Ode to the Fallen. **_

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><p>There is a coolness in the pre-dawn air that is more then familiar to her. She looks out at the Aegean sea, still visible from her place up on the hills. It was still, peaceful. Down on the beach, where the sea met the Turkish coast, hundreds upon thousands of people had gathered for the dawn service. She could feel her citizens there, both young and old. Sadiq and Jack were down there too, somewhere. She'll meet them later.<p>

Her shoes scuff at the dusty ground, and her shoulder brushes against one of the scraggy bushes. She doesn't care, even though it means her dress uniform is getting dirty. There is something sacred about this place, this land that is still stained with her soldiers blood.

With _her _blood.

There are medals pinned to her chest, and their weight is a small comfort. They are her most treasured ones; the New Zealand cross, the Victoria cross, the pacific star, the Gallipoli ones she, personally, had got. The one's she'd earned. She'd told the people she'd come with that they were her family's, but she can still remember Arthur pining them to her chest with a sad sort of smile. The only family she has are other nations, the empire, the commonwealth. The reluctant dominion, fighting for her empire just as passionately as she had fought against him scarcely a century before. Victoria's scarf is wrapped carefully around her neck, to ward off the early morning chills. A century ago, the dying queen had wrapped it around her neck with a pat on her cheek and a thanks for her soldiers bravery in South Africa. Now, she wears it to honor all fallen soldiers on one day each year.

She almost trips, and stares at what her foot had caught. Her eyesight is far better then a human – something she once considered a blessing - and she is able to clearly pick out details from the darkness cloaking this old battlefield. She knows what this is. A large lump of rusted metal.

Shrapnel.

Her lips turn up unwillingly, even as her eyes fill with tears. How many men did she loose to Turkish shells? Too many.

A little way along, she finds what she was looking for. The trench is still obvious - its not overgrown or collapsed in any way. She's almost certain that this was one of theirs, an ANZAC trench. But she's not sure - she's forgotten which ridges they'd occupied.

A cloud of dust picks up around her feet as she lands in the trench. It is over two metres tall, and three metres wide. She sniffs. For eight months, she lived in these trenches, fighting a war that she didn't barely understood.

She can remember what it was like, fighting in the trenches of the Eastern front. The smell of rotting corpses still haunts her, and she can smell it still as she stands on the battlefield ninety-six years on. She closes her eyes, remembering the life she had led here. She can remember the constant rattling of machine gun-fire, the explosions from Turkish shells and the swears and curses from her men as they rushed to retaliate. Her rifle would be leaning against the trench wall behind her, and Jack would be sitting nearby - if he wasn't off with his own troops on a different ridge, or gambling in one of the tunnels. Arthur had never liked that.

She can remember what it was like to feel her insides being eaten away by disease, knowing that, unlike her soldiers, she couldn't die from it, that there was no peace in death. Not for her. She remembers talking with her men, joking, wishing so desperately for a drink of water, or something to eat that wasn't contaminated by the swarms of flies that bred in the corpses that lay bloated in the hot sun. She can remember watching her men walk to their deaths, and marching alongside them, proud to be fighting for her empire, but upset that she had to follow orders that would do nothing but kill her men. She can remember living in tunnels tug out under the trenches that spanned the front, and the constant knowledge that they were in constant danger, that there were snipers everywhere and no where was safe.

It's almost enough to bring bile up her throat.

It's almost enough to make her wish she'd never stepped foot on this peninsular again.

But she can also remember the hope that she felt at the time, a hope buoyed by the patriotism of her citizens at home, over a thousand miles away. The hope that Arthur wouldn't let her rot, that they'd break the stalemate, that they'd win this battle, and the war as well. She can remember the hope she'd felt during the ceasefire and she'd met Sadiq for the first time, and he'd offered her a cigarette and told her she was doing well. Those kind words, even from the mouth of the enemy, had been enough to stop her from dispairing.

New Zealand opened her eyes and allowed the present to return.

The Turkish coast is dusted with the first rays of light. She climbs out of the trench and continued walking, and as she did so, a tune began to bubble up in her throat.

"Australians all let us rejoice,  
>For we are young and free..."<p>

A crooked smile graces her lips as she sung her brother's anthem. She'd never do this if Jack was anywhere nearby. She stopped and looked out over the sea, over the hills and cliffs and beach that she and so many others had fought for and lost.

"In joyful strains then let us sing,  
>Advance Australia Fair!"<p>

She let the last note hang in the air, her hand over her heart, over the red poppy already pined there. She faced the sun as she begun to sing again. Her solo sounds eerie even to her own ears, this land has been quiet for a very long time, the spirits of brave soldiers departed.

"God save our gracious Queen,  
>Long live our noble Queen..."<p>

A song for each soldier who died for their nation on these shores. Tears were beginning to stream down her face, as her mind joined every citizen of hers in the dawn service below. Back at home, the service was already finished. She finished the anthem she shared with England, pausing to wipe her eyes before beginning Turkey's anthem.

"Korkma, sönmez bu şafaklarda yüzen al sancak;  
>Sönmeden yurdumun üstünde tüten en son ocak,"<p>

Her voice was beginning to hitch now. She didn't know Turkey's anthem as well as she did her brothers, but she did her best. They had fought too: they deserved the recognition as well. Especially after all they had done to honor the ANZAC's and Englishmen who had fallen here. They had beaten them, but they honored the dead of the losing side. For that, she would always be indebted.

"E Ihowā Atua,  
>O ngā iwi mātou rā...<br>Āta whakarangona;  
>Me aroha noa...<br>Kia hua ko te pai;  
>Kia tau tō atawhai;<br>Manaakitia mai  
>Aotearoa..."<p>

For ninety-six years and throughout four wars, she had kept a stiff upper lip. She had not allowed herself to cry. She was stronger then that. Her men, her warriors. Now, in the silence of the dawn, in the trenches she had once fought and bleed and died alongside her men, she allowed herself to mourn.

Once the service had finished, and she'd caught up with Sadiq and Jack, she knew she would be expected to fly out to meet her boss in France, before heading to London to met Arthur. She wanted this moment, this morning for herself, so that she could spend time with the ghosts and allow their memories to live once more.

She let the Maori verse die out, pausing before beginning to sing the english one. God defend New Zealand, indeed.

"God of Nations at Thy feet  
>In the bonds of love we meet...<br>Hear our voices we entreat;  
>God defend our free land!<br>Guard Pacific's triple star;  
>From the shafts of strife and war...<br>Make her praises heard afar,  
>God defend New Zealand!"<p>

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked over to see Sadiq and Jack standing behind her. Of course these two would know where she was. She had been so focused in her grief that she had not heard them approach Her brother hugged her, while Turkey simply grabbed her hand, keeping his masked eyes trained on the ocean. In a quiet companionable silence, they listened as the Last Post echoed up from the beach.

"Almost a hundred years, huh?" Jack murmured. She hummed in agreement. As the last note of the trumpet faded away, quietly, Sadiq began to speak.

"Those heroes that shed their blood  
>And lost their lives.<br>You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country.  
>Therefore rest in peace.<br>There is no difference between the Johnnies  
>And the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side<br>Here in this country of ours.  
>You, the mothers,<br>Who sent their sons from far away countries  
>Wipe away your tears,<br>Your sons are now lying in our bosom  
>And are in peace<br>After having lost their lives on this land they have  
>Become our sons as well."<p>

Jack kissed the crown of her head as her body shook with suppressed sobs. She would not cry in front of these two, she would _not_. Jack tightened his grip on her. The service was almost finished. One last tradition, one last memory.

"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;  
>Age shall not weary them nor the years condemn.<br>At the going down of the sun and in the morning  
>We will remember them."<p>

Jack recited. She nodded, sniffing and wiping her eyes. The normally cheerful Turk beside her tightened his grip on her hand

"We will remember them." She repeated softly.

"We will remember them." Sadiq murmured. The dawn was almost here. Yet another year had past since they had fought upon these cliffs. Now, Turkey, Australia and New Zealand stood together, in peace, to remember them.

The sun was just rising on April the 25th.

On ANZAC day.

"We will remember them."

**In Tribute to the ninety-sixth Anzac day. It's a couple of days late, sorry! I'm not sure if it really made sense...it was writen really quickly in a spur of the moment decision. I hope it conveyed the feeling of Anzac day. **

**The medal's New Zealand is wearing: **

**The New Zealand cross**** was awarded to men who fought in the New Zealand land wars of 1860 - 1872 as a recognition of gallantry. Seeing this is basically seen as a civil war, I believe New Zealand would have supported both her citizens fighting alongside the British redcoats, and her own Maori people. The one she is wearing is the First New Zealand cross. The Second New Zealand cross was instituted in 1999 as the premier civilian award for bravery. **

**The Victoria Cross**** is the highest British Imperial military decoration which is awarded for valour "in the face of the enemy". I think that New Zealand received one from England after WWI, in which NZ provided 20% of eligible manpower – that's second highest out of all the allied powers, second only to Britain. NZ soldiers were also known in both WWI and the Boer war as being very courageous and cunning, with a certain disregard for rules.**

**The Pacific Star**** was a campaign medal of the British Commonwealth, awarded for service in World War II in the pacific theater. New Zealand soldiers fought alongside America during this war.**

**The Gallipoli medallion**** was awarded to all soldiers who fought in the gallipoli campaign (or their families) on the 50****th**** anniversary of campaign. **

**New Zealand's scarf: During the Boer War, Queen Victoria knitted a series of scarves to be presented as an award for bravery on the front. However, as she died before the Scarves could be finished, they were never formally awarded. They are still seen as having the same amount of prestige as a medal, however. I like the idea of Victoria knitting one for New Zealand especially. Victoria was the first monarch of New Zealand and the colony's citizens loved her dearly, which I see as the nation loving her too. **

**Turkey's little speech there is a direct quote of the founder of modern-day turkey, Ataturk, is regards to the men who died during the Gallipoli campaign. (Random fact: He actually led the Turkish forces against the ANZAC's at Gallipoli.)**

**Australia recites the last lines of the famous poem "Iode to the Fallen". It is traditionally recited at the end of the ANZAC dawn service, after a playing of the Last Post.**

**Aaand, finally, to finish it all up. When New Zealand say's she's gotta meet her boss in France, I didn't make this up. Prime minister John Key spent ANZAC day in a village in France which New Zealand soldier's liberated during WWI. Now, that village apparently love's NZ, going so far as to name their streets after kiwi things. It's kinda weird, really. **

**John Key did go to the ANZAC service at Westminster abbey, and is now in London, about to go to the Royal Wedding. Lucky sod.  
><strong>


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